


Astray

by Koneia



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:02:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26040847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Koneia/pseuds/Koneia
Summary: Fading, like the light of Earth’s sun which bleeds with long shadows into my quarters and over the few boxes I had packed the last days - that’s how I feel. Fading and lost.Voyager is supposed to be home, is even parked planetside, safely, in the sheltering embrace of San Francisco’s dry dock. But all that I can do is to stare at the boxes in the middle of my otherwise emptied quarters, which had been my home for seven years. Now I have lost home again, only to return to a place where I as a Maquis am not welcome in the wake of a war we’ve missed.
Relationships: Chakotay/Kathryn Janeway
Comments: 25
Kudos: 79





	Astray

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KJaneway115](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KJaneway115/gifts).



> Happy birthday KJaneway115! :D 
> 
> Many thanks to IndianSummer2378 and JoAryn for betaing the story and the many helpful suggestions to find the right ending :) [Although thanks to you I have now two further WIPs on my drive *hugs*]
> 
> Disclaimer: I still don't own Star Trek… No infringement is intended.

Fading, like the light of Earth’s sun which bleeds with long shadows into my quarters and over the few boxes I had packed the last days - that’s how I feel. Fading and lost.

_Voyager_ is supposed to be home, is even parked planetside, safely, in the sheltering embrace of San Francisco’s dry dock. But all that I can do is to stare at the boxes in the middle of my otherwise emptied quarters, which had been my home for seven years. Now I have lost home again, only to return to a place where I as a Maquis am not welcome in the wake of a war we’ve missed.

Three boxes.

That’s all.

After seven years in the Delta Quadrant, only three small boxes suffice to contain everything I own.

It’s more than I took with me the moment I stopped being a Star Fleet officer and joined the Maquis. And it is considerably more than I what I was able to take with me when I left the _Val Jean_ in those hectic minutes before her sacrifice saved us all.

Three boxes are more than I probably ever possessed. Yet I feel so empty that it hurts almost physically.

My glance falls onto the couch, where a pile wrenches my churned-up soul even more. It’s stuff that Kathryn had forgotten over the years in my quarters and which somehow had merged with my belongings. Stuff she’d loaned me and never asked them back. Stuff I honestly have no idea whether or not it is mine or hers. I was surprised how large Kathryn’s pile on my couch became the longer I emptied my quarters.

And how non-existent Seven’s pile is.

To give her credit - Seven was way faster than me in the uptake. She’d termed it an ‘incompatible inconsistency’ with our previous decision to form a liaison and that I might reconsider some parameters of my life. Then she’d left my quarters and thus our relationship even quicker than she’d entered it.

Parameters.

Somehow, this word is a tell-tale of my life. Tell-tale of a balance lost between friends that should have become lovers and who instead lost themselves in the maelstrom of the Delta Quadrant. A tell-tale of my inability to move on, of our speechlessness in those things that really matter.

Sighing, I reach for the book bound in precious leather, which feels warm and smooth beneath my fingers. Dante. Mark’s engagement gift to Kathryn. How long is it already in my quarters? Years? Why is it still here? Why hasn’t she taken it back? I can’t believe that she has forgotten it. It’s still here for a reason. There is always a reason what concerns Kathryn Janeway.

Taking a deep breath, I open its first pages which greet me with brutal honesty like an old reliable friend. My voice strangely echoes in these deserted rooms which were formerly mine. "In the middle of the journey of our life I found myself astray in a dark wood where the straight road had been lost."

With a loud thud I close it again.

Astray and left to … reconsider the parameters of my life. It’s a shaded, lightless place what my life has become, probably very much alike Dante’s wood. And I can’t deny that a large proportion is my own fault. Slowly, I lay it back - the book, whose presence in my quarters will probably remain an enigma to me unless I have the guts to ask.

I hadn’t got the guts to ask her something this personal for months - and that hurts way more than I want to admit. We’ve been close. So close that I handed her over more than once my life and the sanity of my soul.

Tentatively, I reach for another item on the pile. One of her uniform jackets. It must have somehow dropped behind my couch the night we both mourned the loss of Joe Carey’s life. It still has the faint scent which is uniquely her. The scent which had welcomed me back from unconsciousness so often in sickbay that I have stopped counting. The scent which still lingers in _Voyager_ _’s_ ready room and her chair on the bridge if I dare to visit these places again. 

I’ve kissed Seven multiple times. Nevertheless …

“You have absolutely no memory of how she smells,” I murmur into the quietness.

But I remember how Kathryn smells.

Her scent, when she is exhausted to the core. When she is sweaty and filthy after long shifts working in _Voyager_ _’s_ bowels. The scary odor of her blood-soaked clothes. The taste of her perfume on these few happy occasions on the holodeck. Her breath after she’d taken a few sips from her coffee.

A moron … That’s what I am. Seven years I have spent beside this woman, went to hell and beyond in her wake. Fought with her. Fought against her. Tried to struggle against the bond which connects us, no matter if we want to see it or not. And all what is left is this pile of her belongings on my couch?

I can’t believe that.

I don’t want to believe that all we shared is reduced to these few things.

What the hell am I supposed to do with this pile? Am I ready to bring back Kathryn’s stuff and confront us with the unspoken? Or, am I really ready to debark _Voyager_ without giving it, us, one last try, as desperate, maybe even useless as it may be?

An overwhelming nausea fills me at the second thought, wrenches my gut. Here, I have the answer to my question, as uncomfortable as it is. Rubbing my face, I stare out of the window without seeing anything.

The harsh truth is that she is there, so deeply embedded under my skin, in the baseline of my life that it, us, had become … habit. But what will become of the two of us once we depart without addressing our issues, once our speechlessness wins over the courage and even our friendship fades?

My fingers clench around the jacket.

In the end it’s about choices, isn’t it? Each day, each moment we choose anew who we want to be, how we want to live.

And I’ll be damned if I don’t fight for this.

Inhaling deeply, I throw the jacket back on the pile and snatch the book. One last desperate attempt. That’s probably all I have.

I’ve never felt the few meters to her quarters to be that long. My fingers hover over the chime. What if she has already left _Voyager_? Would she debark without telling me? Have we drifted already apart that much?

With determination I push the button. She wouldn’t.

And it appears I am right.

“Come in,” her voice greets me as the doors to her sanctuary trigger open.

Drawing a deep breath, I step across the threshold, briefly take in my environment which has strangely changed. Several large containment boxes are scattered around the room. A large travel bag towers on her couch. Her quarters are as empty as mine, ripped from her personality.

Kathryn looks up from her desk, surprise washing over her face as she sees me. I can’t help the impression that she, too, is forlorn. Her uniform jacket, carelessly tossed over one of the boxes. Pale, her features which are engulfed by the warm fading rays of the setting sun and which frame haunted eyes that glitter suspiciously. Hair, tousled. Ever so slowly she stands up, rounds the desk with heavy steps.

“Chakotay,” she says with a hoarse voice as if she’d been crying.

And it dashes over me - the realization that she hasn’t expected me to turn up. To maybe _ever_ turn up again.

Her gaze falls onto the book in my hands.

“You are leaving,” she states quietly. There is no strength in her tone.

My steps falter. Words fail me. It’s only an arm’s length we come to stand before each other, but the space fills with so much agony that her form becomes hazy before my eyes.

Hesitantly, I lift the book, hand it to her, the pained look in her eyes deepening as I do so. And my soul bleeds, tears apart the moment she accepts it gracefully, beaten. That’s not the way I want this, us, to end, to fade into nothingness. My fingers tighten around the leather cover, halting Dante mid-air between us.

An irritated frown enters her face. Inquiring, her eyes dart to me, study me with an intensity that sends chills all over my body the longer I hold her glance.

“It’s yours, I know, Kathryn, but …” I finally wrench out the words that are barely a croak. “But I am not ready to let it go yet.”

Her eyes widen, become even more watery the more she appears to understand what I want to tell her. It is as if time slows around us, as if the truth is allowed to step into our lives for the first time without immediately being banned. A minuscule tremor vibrates over Dante as her breath hitches, before she - ever so carefully - shoves the book back, withdrawing her fingers only when it is safely encapsulated in my hands again. Her arms drop to her side.

“And I am not ready to take it back,” she whispers.

There she stands, so fragile, so vulnerable, her gaze on me, waiting for me to respond to the choice she’d obviously just made.

Is it hope what is in the depths of her eyes?

My throat tightens. It’s as if my feet are glued to the floor. 

“I am not ready to leave yet,” I continue, forcing myself to speak out the so far unspeakable, unable to keep the quivering out of my voice.

The sides of her lips twitch for the split of a second. With her eyes still on me, her hand moves to her temple, massages it with delicate fingers that tremble way too much for a person who is supposed to be calm.

“Then … how about you stay?” she asks, swallowing.

It’s so silent in the room that the blood rushing in my ears is almost like a thunder.

“How …” I bite my lips, shift my weight to the other foot. Sweat breaks out in the palms of my hands as my pulse starts to race. “How long do you want me to stay?”

She averts her eyes. Putting both her hands on her hips, she starts chewing on her lip.

“What if …” She stops chewing. Clears her throat. The pulse on her neck quickens. Lifting her chin, she focuses on a spot behind my shoulder. “What if … I would ask you to stay long?”

The air around me implodes, takes my breath away. “In these quarters or in your life?”

Hesitantly her eyes seek mine. My knees become weak. The answer is clear, bare any attempt to hide.

“This scares me, Kathryn,” I whisper.

“Me too,” she murmurs, then runs her fingers through her hair. A strand falls back into her face.

Both our breaths go ragged as we watch each other, insecurely, disbelieving what is just happening, fighting for composure. And yet, it feels like something snaps back to the right place where it belongs, connecting, deepening like a stone that dives into the water.

“I honestly don’t know what to say right now, Chakotay,” she murmurs, scratching her neck awkwardly.

I take a few measured breaths. “Me neither.”

Our gazes meet again. This time more confident.

Waving her hand in a helpless gesture through the air, Kathryn swallows. “A bit unexpected, isn’t it? I mean…“ Then she trails off.

A weak smile forces itself onto my lips. “I was preparing to debark _Voyager_.”

“And start a new life with Seven,” she adds.

So, she knows of me and Seven. But there is no accusation. Just a statement. I tug my ear. “How-?”

“The Admiral,” she answers my unfinished question. “She told me that you both are already getting … quite close.”

Pressing my lips together, I study her. The way she boldly holds her head, although the hurt is palpable. The way she doesn’t evade my glance yet does not hide her inner turmoil in the depths of her eyes from me.

“The idea, though tempting, didn’t feel right,” I say slowly. “Don’t get me wrong. She is a brilliant young woman, whom I have totally underestimated in her qualities, but ...”

Kathryn locks eyes with me. A whole world of meaning meanders between us and I understand in this moment that I am not the only one who was forced to reconsider his life just recently. She tilts her head. “She is brilliant. But she is not your equal.”

Inhaling deeply, not severing our eye contact, I try to ignore the fluttering in my belly. “No, Kathryn. You are my equal. You know it. I know it. The question is what we are going to do about it.”

Abruptly Kathryn turns away. Wrapping her arms around her body, she walks to the window. The dusk’s warm light edges out the fine lines of exhaustion in her face. How could I have forgotten how beautiful she is?

“I did not always treat to you as equal in these years.” Tightening her arms around herself, she stares into the dazzling colors of the sunset.

“No, you didn’t,” I reply hesitantly, unsure how much truth we both can bear right now. Dante weighs large and heavy in my fingers. “Sometimes you didn’t treat me as equal because you couldn’t. And sometimes because you didn’t want to.” I pause. “It’s not that I’ve been easy on you either.”

“It’s been a tough time for all of us,” she answers, bitterness clouding her tone. For a long time she remains silent, only her regular breathing mingles with mine. “You have no idea how sorry I am,” she eventually states, and straightening, she turns around and meets me with an unveiled, pained expression. Her voice is barely a whisper. “I am sorry about not being able to be a better commanding officer to you. Of hurting you, even violating you. For not being a better friend. For not listening, when I should have. For not allowing us to go beyond this precious friendship. We both-”

“It was not possible under the circumstance,” I cut her short, the sense of not wanting to enter this territory ever again in my life filling my heart. “The responsibility on this topic is not on you alone, Kathryn. I know I’ve failed you many times too.” My throat tightens so hard that it aches. “I am sorry for not speaking up. For not holding you when I’ve should. And I can’t excuse that I mistook our tensions for not loving you anymore. Nor can I excuse my miserable attempt to move on.”

For a few seconds the last sentences linger in the air, spread their wings.

Kathryn’s feature soften. “It’s still there between us, isn’t it,” she whispers.

And something within me cracks open in full force, pours out, unfolds. Defenseless I watch myself surrender to the current which flows between us probably since the first day we met. “From my side it is.”

Her shoulders sag in relief. “From mine also.”

And that’s all what seems to be relevant to say on this. The Delta Quadrant. Us.

Quietness descends again in her quarters, only muffled voices in the corridor interrupt it shortly; evidence that we are not the last people on _Voyager_. A large bird flies past the window, it’s shadow crossing fast the room along the floor. It’s like a sign. To move on. Fly on.

“What are we going to do with the two of us now, Chakotay?” she finally asks, her eyes still riveted on me.

My heart hammers hard in my chest. _The two of us._

“I … I don’t know,” I murmur, unreality almost overwhelming me. “You know I resigned from being your first officer because of the political situation. I have currently no job, no income. Only a few of my family are left. So bottom line, I have nothing to offer to you except for myself, which - considering how often we butted heads lately - is probably nothing overly desirable.”

“You think you are not desirable?” She huffs a laugh, the expression in her eyes a mixture of amusement … and something that makes me feel cherished like never before. “You of all people think you are not desirable?” she repeats gently.

“Kathryn …”

Stepping forward to me, she extricates Dante out of my hand and places the book cautiously on the coffee table with a determined expression, before she looks up to me, the warmth of her body seeping through her clothes. “I am not going to tell you now how often in the last years I brought myself over the brink with you in my mind, because this is not about the physical attraction between us.”

Unable to say a word, I stare at her, the air around me drumming against me as if it were alive.

She seems to muster her last shred of courage. “I owe you my life numerous times, Chakotay. You stood by my side, no matter how dangerous it was. Backed me up in those hours when I gave up, kicked my butt when I was wrong, even when I hurt you back. You listened to my sorrows, to my doubts. You laughed with me in the happy hours, grieved with me every single time we lost a member of our crew. You shared with me your life and your soul. And although you’ve seen all my worst sides, you are still here.”

“Kathryn-”

She lifts her hand, pleading. “Please … let me finish. I evaded this long enough. So long that I thought I lost any chance to ever say it to you.”

Warmth, unending warmth swaps into my heart. I sense them - all these words, sentences she has bottled up, never dared to speak out aloud. I can’t help my arms rising, the palms of my hands framing her cheeks, caressing her with my thumbs. Her skin is so soft. She briefly closes her eyes, leans ever so slightly into my touch.

“I …,” she starts anew, swallows hard, evidently struggling to voice these very sentences. But instead of speaking, her hands come to lay on both sides of my waist. Cautious, almost questioning. Sudden insecurity oozes from her. It’s an intimacy we’ve never shared before, a preamble for the things to come, if-

Hot nervousness pools in my guts, beats in my chest, creeps agitated into every nerve of mine. From where I draw the boldness to let my fingers trace along her cheek, to the base of her neck - I don’t know. Her pulse drums fast against my fingertips.

“I can’t imagine a day without you, Chakotay,” she finally says, condensing these many words in one single truth. Her hand wanders to my chest, and although she’d placed it there countless times before, her touch feels different.

“Neither can I imagine a day without you,” I murmur, drinking in the sight of her slightly parted lips, the flush that covers her skin.

“I’ve decided to attend counseling,” she continues with a slightly trembling voice. Caressing my sternum, she tilts her face even more upwards, the expression in her eyes sincere. “I want to leave the Delta Quadrant behind me. To start a new life, however it may look like.” She inches nearer to me, warm and soft her body as it nestles against mine. “But preferably with you beside me. Day and night.”

“Then it would be wise if I also start counseling if we want to make us work,” I murmur against her lips, inhale her breath, her soul that comes with it.

“Yes,” she whispers. Her lips brush mine, soft, like the faintest of all sentences she’s ever said to me. But despite its delicacy I recognize it for what it is.

“I love you too,” it pours out of me.

That’s when she seals my mouth with hers, when the sweetness that is her taste washes over all my senses and the soft curves of her body press deliciously against mine as she wraps her arms around my neck. When we stumble, drunken with each other, against the wall. When her tongue seeks mine and for the first time the besetting voice of the Delta Quadrant with all its traumas looses its sharpness, lapses into silence within me.

Sudden, infinite understanding explodes in my chest, sets roots in my guts, forces my very being to acknowledge what my mind was trying to tell me ever since _Voyager_ arrived at Earth’s doorstep two weeks ago.

Earth.

We made it back. Alive.

No one will hunt us down anymore. No more sorrows how to keep our crew safe and alive. No more fear about running out of energy in the middle of nowhere.

It’s over. We are safe.

A new life to begin.

Cautiously, Kathryn pulls away from me.

“You’re crying,” she states, worry in her eyes. Raising a finger, she catches a tear running down my cheek, brushes away others.

With my last ounce of strength, I focus on my breathing. To not stumble, to not succumb to the smashing fatigue that comes in the wake of relief.

“We are back on Earth, Kathryn,” I barely manage to say. “We … we did it.”

“We did it,” she whispers in a teary voice, and tightening our embrace, she draws me near, buries her face into the crook of my neck.

Time loses any relevance as we seek comfort in each other and the approaching nightfall changes all colors in her empty quarters. Somewhen, we loosen our embrace.

“It’s about time we go home, Chakotay,” she says with unending exhaustion clouding her voice and places a gentle kiss on my mouth.

Enchanted, my fingers trace over her lips. “Yes.”

With a smile, she steps back and turns towards her couch. As she shoulders her travel bag, the fingers of her free hand reach for mine in a warm and secure clasp which leads me out of the door into a deserted corridor. Effortlessly, smoothly, our steps match each other.

I stop at the door of my quarters. “I’ll get my stuff, okay?”

She merely nods. “I’m calling the lift meanwhile.”

Three boxes meet me as I step into my former home, but in vain I search for the soul-tearing agony which I once had felt at their sight. I am not the same man who left these rooms only a small eternity before. Even the weight of my own travel bag feels light, despite every fiber of mine is drained to the core.

I am going home with her.

Wherever it is.


End file.
